


Siblings' Dilemma

by lazybum89



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 21:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazybum89/pseuds/lazybum89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A different take on what if John knew Sherlock before 'A Study in Pink.' What if Mycroft, Harry, John and Sherlock were all siblings. How differently would things turn out differently for them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock… it belongs to its respective owners of which I am not… Although if I was that would be pretty awesome... not gonna lie.

Prologue

"I can't take it any more, Mycroft. I'm more sure than ever of my decision," said the boy, or young man really, standing in front of Mycroft Holmes.

"John, they didn't mean it. Don't do it," said Mycroft, trying to talk him out of his decision. Damn his brother and sister. They had no idea what was on the line and look what happened. How could this have happened?

John shook his head and said, "They did. I know they did. It's okay though, Mycroft. I know it was just the alcohol and drugs talking mostly, some of it was them I'm sure, but I just can't do it anymore. I need to get away and start my own life."

"So you decided to join the Army? Brother, there are other ways," started Mycroft.

"No, Mycroft. This is where I can be of more use. I can help people," said John.

"You can help people without getting shot at here," countered Mycroft. He didn't want his younger brother in that kind of danger.

"Please, Mycroft, don't fight me on this. I can't stand it if I'm not on speaking terms with at least one of my siblings before I go," said John, sounding exhausted and hurt.

Mycroft looked at his younger brother, the brother he swore to protect from the moment he was born and he had all those complications, it wasn't easy being the youngest twin delivered after all, and he saw the determination, exhaustion of what had been happening over the past couple years and the hurt and he couldn't refuse him. Not this, though he wanted to so desperately. They were in the middle of a war. There was a serious risk of John being injured or dying. Mycroft did the only thing that was left.

"You take care, brother, and be careful," said Mycroft, giving his brother one of his rare hugs.

"I will, Mycroft," said John, hugging his brother, and, trying to make a joke to lighten the mood, he continued, "try not to interfere with my career too much, yeah?"

"John," said Mycroft, pulling back and giving his brother a look, "You know me well enough to know that will never happen, though I will try not to be too heavy handed. You will have to earn everything." Mycroft actually did want his brother to earn everything. He didn't want his head to get big and therefore cocky and then he would get himself killed. No John would have to work extra hard to earn anything.

"I don't like hand-outs, Mycroft, I never did. It's why I'm enlisting under John H. Watson," said John with a slight scowl.

Mycroft smirked slightly and said, "Does the 'H' said for Hamish or Holmes."

John just smiled and didn't give an answer.

After a moment, Mycroft asked, "When do you ship out?"

"Tomorrow," answered John and then he continued softer, "It's probably for the best."

"Probably," said Mycroft, nodding his agreement even if he wanted to say no it most certainly wasn't for the best and take John far away from what he was about to do.

John hesitated and then he asked, "Will you tell Harry and Sherlock that I said good-bye? They probably won't be awake and sober by the time I have to leave but I don't want them to –"

"Stop babbling, John," said Mycroft. "Of course, I will tell them." And Mycroft meant it. He would tell them John said good-bye along with a lot of other things he, himself, wanted to tell them.

"Don't, Mycroft," said John.

"Don't what, John," said Mycroft, raising an eyebrow.

"They haven't listened to anything we've said before and me leaving won't change their ways," said John, shaking his head. "Don't bother. Just tell them I said good-bye."

Mycroft looked at John again. The hurt and bitterness now showing through.

"Come," said Mycroft and he led John into his house, an arm over his shoulders, and they spent the night like they used to, when Mycroft had the time even back then, back when things were simpler. They watched movies all night and laughed until they both fell asleep.

The next day, Mycroft had just come back to his house after watching his brother get on the bus that was going to take him to his basic training. He had half the notion to go back and get his brother or have a few of the agents that now worked for him pull the bus over and get his brother, but he had promised John he would let him do this and by God, Mycroft was going to let him do this, no matter how hard it was.

Mycroft walked over to his bar area and poured himself one drink, that was all he allowed himself to drink due to his family history, and sat down in his preferred, Mycroft didn't have favorites, armchair in his television room, their mess from last night cleaned up by the housekeeper. He almost wished she had left it as a reminder.

His doorbell rung and his housekeeper went to answer it.

Before he knew what was happening, his youngest brother had swept into the room along with their sister. Mycroft down his drink before his siblings tried to ask him for some. He wasn't supporting their habit, regardless if they were old enough to drink. They weren't old enough to do it responsibly apparently.

"Where is he?" asked Sherlock.

"Who, Sherlock?" said Mycroft, tilting his head.

"Don't play dumb, Mycroft. It's unbecoming," said Sherlock glaring at him. He needed to apologize. He didn't mean what he said. He promised John he wouldn't say something like that to him again because of the drugs but he did anyway. He needed to apologize.

Mycroft glared at him and Harry, who didn't look entirely sobered up yet and so she wasn't paying complete attention, and said, "He left."

Sherlock stopped short at what he was going to say to Mycroft and said, instead as Harry's head snapped in Mycroft's direction paying attention now, "What?"

"You heard me. You both did. You are not deaf. He wanted me to tell you both good-bye," said Mycroft, holding his tongue on what else he wanted to say to them, though it was nothing more or less than they had heard before from him.

"Where did he go?" asked Harry, finally joining in the conversation. She felt guilty for the conversation she had last night with John as well, not nearly as much as Sherlock, she wasn't going to promise something she new she was going to break, but she didn't like the hurt she had seen on her twin's face, that she had put there.

Mycroft, still glaring at them and they both held their tongue for once, said, calmly which was a complete contrast to the look still on his face, "If you both would have listened to him and not just talked to him when you needed something and that was it or to steal his money, you would know that he has been thinking and talking about joining the Army for a while and he did it. He left for his basic training today."

"You can't let him do that," said Harry. She knew there was a war going on. She didn't want what she said to him last night to be the last thing he heard from her if something happened to him.

"Bring him back," said Sherlock, at once. He didn't want his brother over there. What if some happened and he never got to apologize?

"It's already done and I can't. He'll be angry with me if I did and I can't stand to have all three of my siblings angry at me if I did that," said Mycroft and he let out a sigh and stopped his glaring.

Harry and Sherlock didn't know what to say to that. It was true, John was the only one who was civil with Mycroft anymore, mostly because Mycroft was the only who was civil with him as Sherlock and Harry spent most of their time drunk, high on drugs or looking for their next fix, and when Mycroft stopped them, which was more times than not, they were angry at him and John.

"Mycroft," said both Harry and Sherlock but Mycroft interrupted them.

"Don't," said Mycroft, shaking his head at them. "Don't unless you can promise for good and actually get clean."

"I will," said Sherlock. He had promised John and he broke it and he didn't get a chance to fix it before he left. Mycroft was giving him a second chance, albeit not with John directly and it was more like his fifth or sixth chance but that was besides the point.

Mycroft didn't look like he believed him but Sherlock would make him believe him.

Sherlock and Mycroft turned to Harry, who said, "I'll try." For some reason John's face from last night, the hurt face, kept popping up and she couldn't shake it. If something happened, John would remember her by the last thing she said to him and they had been awful.

"I'll try," repeated Harry.

Mycroft looked like he didn't believe either of them but he called a rehab center and admitted the both of them that day.

After that, things settled into a routine for the four Holmes children and that is how the next few years went. Mycroft working his way up through the ladders of government until he was _The_ British Government always keeping an eye on his siblings, watching Harry sink deeper after she came out of rehab, watching Sherlock become sober and doing good and paying particular attention to where John was stationed at, receiving letters and emails from him and the occasional video call after close calls. All the time, keeping his government in check, making sure no harm came to any of the people and keeping an eye on all the threats, particularly a new one that had popped up that went by the name of Moriarty, and neutralizing them when necessary.

Harry, weighed down by guilt, tried to become sober but she couldn't stay on the bandwagon after she left the rehab center. She was reminded daily of the last time she saw her twin's face, hers was nearly identical to his, every time she looked in the mirror and the hurt she put on his on purpose because he was trying to get her help. The only way the feeling of guilt would go away was when she was looking at the bottom of a bottle or bottles she had drunk. At least she kicked the drug habit. She ignored the letters he sent, though she didn't throw them away, and the emails went unread. Clara was becoming fed up with her, she could tell and Harry couldn't deal with all of it.

Sherlock worked hard at becoming sober and becoming an ex-addict for good this time for himself, and John, to prove to him that he meant it even if it was a little late, and then he started to consult as a Consulting Detective with Scotland Yard, sometimes taking private cases or the rare one for his brother when he asked if he was feeling charitable. He also hoped John would contact him and when he did, he was always afraid to open the email and then the letter that arrived, afraid of what they might say. He had a collection of unopened letters on his table and in his email inbox. He would also ask Mycroft how John was doing but other than the basic, "He is fine," Mycroft wasn't telling, saying if he wanted to find out, he would have to talk to John himself, but Sherlock was afraid to, not that he was actually admit it. He buried himself in his detective work and his side experiments he had.

John worked hard in the Army as a medic doctor and then a surgeon, finally earning the rank of Captain, reputation as a crack shot and as a lady's man, though he was always disappointed when Harry and Sherlock didn't answer his letters or emails, though according to Mycroft, he always responded and even video called him a couple times, especially after close calls, Sherlock at least was asking about him, sober, not addicted to drugs any more and a consulting detective. Well he always said he would invent the job one day. He just wasn't brave enough to open any of the mail that John sent, which disappointed John slightly. He was also upset that Harry was still drinking but couldn't really do anything about it from where he was at, not that she would listen to him. She never had before.

And then something happened that changed all that, a game, that no one was sure they were ready to play, was set in motion.

"This is your target, Moran," the man behind the desk said holding up a photo of an Army medic, a Captain by the looks of him.

"Sir," said Moran, grinning and nodding his head at his boss.

"Career ending if you can, not life ending. I want to know if _this_ ," he shook the picture with a clichéd red 'X' over the medic's face, "is what it takes to make both the Holmes brothers tick. It is obvious that though they care for their sister, there is something different about their brother. They would do almost anything for him," said the man.

"Yes, Moriarty," said Moran, grinning even more. He loved it when his targets had to suffer.

"Dismissed," said Moriarty, leaning back as Moran left to prepare, looking at his computer screen that had the images of the certain hacked cameras in London, watching the subjects of his previous discussion.

"Oh boys, I hope you're ready to play cause Daddy's just set the game in motion."

A few weeks after that disturbing meeting between Moriarty and Moran, Captain John H. Watson felt a bullet pierce his shoulder, right through his protective gear.

 _'I've_ _been shot,'_ was his first thought, followed by, _'I've never got to make up with Sherlock and Harry,'_ and then that was followed by, _'Mycroft is gonna make someone pay for this,'_ and his final thought right before he passed out from blood loss as his friend, Bill Murray, and the rest of his unit tried to save his life, the gunshots now stopped and John couldn't think about what that actually meant right now, ' _Please God let me live.'_

Back in London, Mycroft was going through reports, when there was a knock at his door and then it opened without waiting for him to respond.

"What –" started Mycroft but his assistant cut him off and the only time his assistant could do that was when they had information on one of his siblings and it wasn't good news. Oh no, which one –

"Sir, we just got information about an unprovoked sniper attack on a medical camp in Afghanistan," started his assistant.

Mycroft was thankful he was already sitting down.

"John – " started Mycroft but he was, once again, cut off.

"He is alive, but he is in critical condition. Shot once through the shoulder," started the assistant and Mycroft sucked in a breath, if there was damage then John's career would be over and nothing he could do could prevent it, "they won't know the damage until they are done operating and he awakens. He also was shot in the leg but they anticipate minimal damage as the bullet barely grazed the side of his leg."

Mycroft thought for a minute before he said, somewhat angrily, "Get Harriet and Sherlock here now. I don't care what they are doing. Then arrange a flight for all three of us to go to John. I want the best surgeons operating on him, if they aren't already, and the best doctors, nurses, receptionists, janitors and cafeteria workers looking after him while he is recovering!" There was no doubt in his mind that John wouldn't be recovering. He was a Holmes after all. A bullet wasn't going to keep him down.

"Yes, sir," said his assistant already texting away on her phone and leaving the room.

Mycroft's phone binged with an incoming text alert and he could only hope it wasn't his brother or sister refusing to come. When he read the message, however, he paled slightly and ordered his assistant to come back in here and he ordered her to check the whereabouts of all of Moriarty's known and not known associates for the past three weeks. He also wanted security agents posted at John's door and his entire floor, which had now become a private Holmes' floor and no one was allowed on it unless they were cleared by Mycroft himself.

_Ready or not, Iceman, here I come. – M_


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock… it belongs to its respective owners of which I am not… Although if I was that would be pretty awesome... not gonna lie.
> 
> A/N: Just to give the order of everyone's birth, Mycroft is the oldest followed by Harry and John who are twins though Harry was born first and Sherlock is the youngest.

Chapter 1

"You can tell by the footprints, how far apart they were, that the killer –" Sherlock was telling Lestrade, who was taking notes on what he was saying as there was no one around to be impressed or insulted, however the person wanted to take it, so Sherlock wouldn't be overdoing it on his observations, when Sherlock cut himself off by the arrival of a car with tinted windows and a man stepping out. Sherlock's eyes narrowed, that was one of his brother's government cars completed with lackeys.

Lestrade didn't recognize the man who exited the car. He knew that Sherlock had two older brothers; knowing the younger of the two was in the Army and having met the intimidating older. Judging by the car the man had arrived in, Lestrade could only assume that the man worked for the oldest of the Holmes. Lestrade just hoped Sherlock didn't cause too big a fuss with whatever the man wanted, whoever he was. This was still an active crime scene that was being investigated.

"Sir," said the man once he was at a respectable speaking distance away from Sherlock, completely ignoring Lestrade, "You need to come with me right away. It's urgent."

"Of course, my brother's business is always urgent," said Sherlock with a faint hint of disgust, "but you can tell my brother that he cannot make me –"

The man cut him off and said, "It's about your other brother, sir. Mr. Holmes asked me to pick you up so you all can go to him."

Sherlock, who had been about to turn his back to the man and get back to his deductions, froze mid-step. _'Go to him? John.'_

Sherlock unfroze a millisecond later and turned back to the man, completely ignoring Lestrade's questioning look now and asked, "What happened? How is he?"

"Mister Holmes didn't tell me anything about the situation, sir. Just that you needed to go to him," replied the man.

"That's it? Was he injured? Shot? Blown up? What?" asked Sherlock. This was something he couldn't deduce from the man in front of him.

"Calm down, Sherlock," said Lestrade from beside him, his hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

_'When did that happen?'_

"I am calm. I am completely calm," said Sherlock, not sounding calm in the least and shaking off Lestrade's hand.

_'I never responded to his letters. I never apologized. I never –'_

Mycroft's lackey was quiet, waiting to see if the Detective Inspector could talk some sense into his boss' younger brother.

"Just go with him. I can finish up here on my own," Lestrade continued interrupting Sherlock's out-of-control thoughts.

Lestrade was always the complete idiot that Sherlock thought he was if he thought he wasn't going to be finishing up on his own. Sherlock had places to go.

Without another word or backwards glance to either Mycroft's lackey or Lestrade, he got into the car Mycroft had sent and waited for the man to get in impatiently. Typical, the one time Sherlock wanted his brother to be in the car and he wasn't.

As the car pulled away from the curb, Sherlock leaned back in the seat and looked out the window and saw that Lestrade was joined by the newly appointed Sergeant Donovan and they started to talk to each other though Lestrade was watching the car and, subsequently, him leave. Hopefully, they were talking was about the case.

Sherlock closed his eyes and thought about what he was told, or not told, so far.

John was injured, that was the only reason why they were all going to him, as a war zone was not an ideal place to vacation, not that they did the whole family vacation thing since he was a child and their family was whole, though how injured, Sherlock didn't know yet. He was injured enough, though, that Mycroft deemed it important enough that all of them, despite the four of them not speaking to each other directly in years, had to go to John and John couldn't come to them, which meant John was either unconscious from blood loss from being shot and surgery, unconscious from missing limbs from being blown up and the subsequent surgery, both, or something that Sherlock hadn't considered yet because who knew what else could go wrong in a war zone? Sherlock just hoped John had a bad concussion and Mycroft was overreacting as usual.

The car stopped and Sherlock opened his eyes, ready to get out and demand to ask his brother questions about what was going, when he realized they were in front of his sister's house. Apparently they couldn't send out two separate cars to collect them. Mycroft must be cutting back on his employees again or to give Sherlock time to calm down – though that was wasting time as he was totally calm.

Sherlock leaned back angrily in his seat again as he had to wait longer for his answers. Hopefully Harry was sober and hasn't gone on a drinking binge recently.

He looked out the windowed again and saw that the man was escorting Harry out of the house, holding onto her arm tightly as she staggered a bit. Sober was too much to hope for then.

He slid over in the seat so that Harry didn't have to, God forbid she injury herself.

The door opened and the strong scent of alcohol wafted in before Harry got into the car herself.

Before Sherlock could say anything, Harry said, "Don't speak to me. I've got a terrible hangover right now and I'm hoping the two paracetamol Mycroft's goon gave me will help."

She didn't say another word, not even to ask where they were going or why. She just leaned her head against the window that probably felt cool to her head and shut her eyes tightly in preparation for the car's forward motion.

They pulled away from the curb again.

Sherlock sincerely doubted just two paracetamol would help his sister but he did as she asked and didn't say a word. He leaned his head back, shut his eyes and continued to think of all the possibilities about what could have happened to John.

Ten minutes later when they arrived at his brother's office, Mycroft must have had a hand in the stoplights to get them there faster, Sherlock didn't wait for the man to open his door or lead him to his brother's office, he did it by himself, opening the door as soon as the car stopped and walking at a hurried pace, he did not run, a Holmes did not run unless they were being shot at and Sherlock had not run to Mycroft since he was five and fell down the steps outside their house skinning his knee, towards his brother's office, perhaps for the first time in his adult life. His sister was being led by the man at a much slower pace towards the office.

Sherlock made it to Mycroft's office – Mycroft must have told security and everyone else to expect him because no one stopped him – in under a minute, the fastest in his life, and he saw his brother's assistant, the one who liked to change her name between Anthea, Nicole, Bridget, Emma, Cheryl, Athena and Emily, Sherlock just called her Agent C squared, come out of his office.

She held opened the door for him and he went in without a word to her but before he could speak to Mycroft, Mycroft held up a finger so he could finish his conversation on the phone.

"You had better, General. Your career depends on it," said Mycroft, sounding conversational. He listened for a moment before he continued, "I don't think you realize who you are talking about. That is not just a random Captain, and if that is how you treat the Captains under your command expect a review of your command. That's my brother," he paused to let that statement sink in before he continued after a second and he said, "He had better be treated with the best available care until all my specialists can get there. As I said, General. You're career depends on it. Expect someone from my employ there in a minute to help you set it all up and to set up an appointment to schedule your review. Good day." He then hung up without another word.

Mycroft looked at Sherlock and Sherlock, now that he was here, felt like he needed to delay some, so he said, "Are not reviews of commands –"

"Speak not of it, brother. It's a secret after all," Mycroft cut him off.

Sherlock crossed his arms, he was getting tired of everyone cutting him off today. He gave his brother a look as if to say get on it with and tell me how John is as I do not want to ask but that is why I ran through your office building to get here though I will never admit to running.

Mycroft looked at him and said, "I want to wait until Harriet gets here so I do not have to repeat myself."

Sherlock nodded once in agreement and sat down in front of his brother's desk and they waited for their sister in silence that for once was not loaded due to any tension caused by their direct or indirect actions.

After a minute, that felt like hours to both Sherlock and Mycroft, the man, who Mycroft called Riley, and Harry walked into the room, Riley still supporting Harry until she sat in the other chair in front of Mycroft's chair.

Riley then nodded once in Mycroft's direction, along with a, "Sir," which Mycroft acknowledged with a head nod before he turned and left the room, leaving the three siblings alone in silence for the first time in years. In fact, the last time Sherlock remembered the last time the three of them being together was right after he and Harry left the rehabilitation center.

Hopefully this conversation turned out better than that one.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I know, another story. This one wouldn't leave me alone until it was written though, at least this prologue. Just a fair warning, this story will probably be updated sporadically as I've only got a vague idea of where I'm going with it, though I do have the next chapter started...


End file.
